You Make Me Feel
by tints
Summary: Brooke wants something she can't have. NB.


**Spoilers/Warnings:** Season 3. "The Show Must Go On."  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. ;/  
**Summary:** Brooke wants something she can't have. NB.  
**Notes:** This is just a little bit of insanity. It's nothing hardcore, but it is a little twist to the season three finale. And when I say little, think of a piece of sand. _That_ tiny.

* * *

You know something is wrong when you first spot Lucas. Your heart isn't thumping violently in your chest, like it usually does, when you see your blonde boyfriend. The sun lightens up his perfect face, and yet your heart doesn't seem to respond. It's like it has died, but yet you're still functioning.

It's when you see the other man - the groom, to be precise - standing with a worried expression on his face, and the way the sun seems to light up his features, your heart starts to come to life. It is strange how your breath catches and you feel like you can't breathe. You feel your heart stop when he turns and looks in your direction, and when he offers you a small smile amidst his worry, you suddenly can't feel your legs.

* * *

It is when you hear his voice you feel all tingly inside. As he reads his vows, you can hear his heart glowing with love. For Haley, not for you. You realise Haley James-Scott is the luckiest woman in Tree Hill, for your own relationship with the older Scott isn't going in the direction you had planned. Nor is your friendship with a certain blonde vixen, either.

The tears prick your eyes, and you struggle to keep your eyes trained on the blonde in front of you. His smile used to make you tingle from your head to your toes, but now it does nothing. It feels platonic - or numb - and you keep the brave smile on your face. He can't see through you, but you know you want to believe you can see through him.

But you can't. You can't even read the emotions of the man you truly want most. All you can read is love. Sweet, sickening and toxic love for a woman who isn't you. He's in love with his bride, and he'll forever be faithful.

A tear slides down your cheek, in beat with when Lucas takes your arm and walks you back down the aisle.

* * *

You drown your sorrows in the white wine. Certain people think you're doing it for multiple reasons; your broken friendship with Peyton, the struggle with Lucas, your homeless reputation. But you know, deep down, that you're silently drinking yourself into a world of oblivion because of the man in the black tux who holds his wife closely while dancing.

Haley looks beautiful, all dressed in white. Haley's always been pretty, ever since the day you first saw her in the library. You know he never saw you in the same light as her. He always thought of you as some drunk, stupid girl who slept with anything on masculine legs. But that wasn't true, it never was. It was just an escape route - an easy, stupid escape route - because you were simply neglected by your parents.

You sigh and sip your wine as you watch the couple dance. It isn't until Lucas asks you to join him on the dance floor that you find out about a certain kiss, and the next thing you know, your throat is aching from screaming and your make-up needs re-doing. And before you know it, you're toasting to true love. To Nathan and Haley - _James_ - Scott. To your friend and the man you really wish you had a shot with, and you down the whole glass after you speak.

It isn't long until Haley is dancing with Lucas, and Nathan approaches you with his hands in his pockets, his head bowed down and a slanted smile that amplifies the dimples in his cheeks. "Hey Brooke."

"Hey superstar," you say emotionlessly. The wine may not have kicked in yet, but it doesn't mean you have to be polite. People will just blame it all on you - Lucas, Peyton, everything. No one will suspect a thing.

Nathan looks down again, and he chuckles as he asks you, "Do you want to dance?"

You swear your heart skipped a beat, and that your breath may have hitched, but you find yourself putting your wine glass on the table and standing from your seat, following him to the snow white floor.

He takes your hand in his, as if to make sure you don't get lost in the sea of people, and he guides you to the spot that may have been chosen just for you. His hand, warm and distracting, lets go of yours and settles on your waist. Your hands immediately go up around his neck, and you thank Haley for permitting high heels.

You're not flush against him, but you can feel the warmth of his body soak into your red dress, and it makes you shiver as you process this. He asks you if you're cold, and you simply smile and reply, "No." The song is slow, and you're swaying to the music. It isn't much, but you feel like you're floating in his arms.

The song ends, to you it seems like it came to an abrupt stop all too suddenly, and you let your arms slide from his neck, down his shoulders and to your sides as his hands retreat back to his pockets. You smile up at him, his blue orbs look into your brown ones, and you give him a genuine smile. Standing on your tip-toes - since the shoes aren't _that_ tall - you lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek.

The soft skin underneath your lips makes you want more, but you take what you can get without being too obvious. You let your lips linger a little longer than a platonic kiss on the cheek would be, and you pull away to find a blush lightly surface his face. You smile at this, and whisper, "Congratulations, Nate."

You turn around and walk off the dance floor, picking up a glass of wine from one of the tables, and make your way outside. You know, by this, you're walking away from him, from everyone in that room, and that your feelings - however violent they are as they swirl in front of your eyes - will have to be thrown in the nearest lake.

You remember the bridge, and you decide to make a visit there. Maybe, you figure, your feelings will sink to the bottom of the dark water, and they may never be able to resurface again. Maybe they'll drown in the cold depths of the unknown, and with this thought, you sip your wine for the last time, as you walk on the concrete outside of the wedding.

Emptying the glass, you allow it to slip from your hands and shatter on the ground. The pieces, broken and impossible to rebuild, reflect the image of your heart at this second.

You know you'll never be able to feel this way again.


End file.
